The Sound of Fear
by lilXmisfitXgrl207
Summary: Jace, a young photographer with a troubled life gets his last chance. Only he must travel into Silent Hill, and face the darkness he has fought with his whole life.
1. Chapter 1

**Misfit: Hey guys! I hope you guys like this one, I'm not usually to great with OCs but I really like the ida of Jace and I hope you guys like him too. Reviews are greatly ****appreciated. **

"Oh my friggen god – I can't believe this." Jace let out a large open mouthed yawn as he fingered through the folder on his desk. He ran a hand through his dirty blond hair, and pulled a photo out from the folder. The firm appointed him to a store, a new store who needed some advertisement. Jace had gone over to the store about two weeks ago and had taken a bunch of shots, he had used the precision that he had spent his career perfecting, he has taken the best pictures he could. He thought they were amazing, and yet the firm had sent them back. The same note came with these pictures as the last few pictures had. The note was from his boss – Mr. Shimant. It simply said the same message again and again, "Good pictures, not what we need, we've gotten another photographer who can do their job to take the pictures, too bad for you – here's your pay of 40 dollars for a job barely half done – better luck next time."

Well, maybe the note didn't say that, but it all came down to that simple fact of "your not good enough for us, not anymore." Jace was stronger that most 26 year olds, he had been through hell, he ended up alienating his family and passing up the chance to have a well paying job because he wanted to follow his dream. Since he was 12 he had wanted to become a profession photographer, he had shelled out money for lenses, cameras, film. He has perfected it and went to school for it. His family turned away from him, knowing the being a photographer was a _'starving artist'_ career, and since he was 17 and moved out he hasn't talked to any member of his family, not for anything. He had worked in various jobs and now he was barely paying his rent, but he'd rather starve than go back to them.

They didn't want to understand him and they turned away form him quicker than he could even realize what happened. In the process of living alone for all of his adult life, his self confidence and esteem among other things had taken a few hits for the team and they were, to state it bluntly, very low. He had taken up a very tough outside armor. He had turned his back on the world that had been 'caring" and "loving". He had instead, turned to his work, using it as his protection, as his defense. When things wouldn't go right, he'd turn to his camera, he'd use it to make money, for entertainment, to get by. He had the same camera for all these years, it was his, he had bough anther one, of course, things improve with time and the camera had improved, but he always went back to the same camera that he had bough 14 years ago. When he had nothing else in the world, he turned to his photography, it was the only thing he had when nothing else mattered, nothing else cared, and nothing else was there.

It was his, it was all that was in his heart, went he took pictures, went he poured his soul into those simple frames, sometimes color, sometimes black and white, but always beautiful in his mind's eye, he was releasing what he never showed to people, he was releasing his heart into those prints and went the people refused them, rejected them, insulted them, he was crushed. This was one of those times when it felt like the world was just ganging up on him and wanted to crush him lower than what he already was.

Back to reality, he sat himself down on a swivel chair, one hand still clutching the photograph, the other on his hip as he bent his legs up to his normal sitting position.

"They wouldn't know a good picture if it hit them in the face." He announced to the empty apartment, not hiding any of the venom in his voice. He spun the chair around once, staring at the picture, trying to find its fault. When he could find no noticeable problem he went back to his typical excuse, "They just don't like me – I know it!..." Jace said, his eyes wide, as he felt the tears coming up to his eyes, instead of allowing them out he swiped greedily at his wide, glassy grey eyes. He hadn't really cried since the first time he was publicly rejected, he didn't really cry, he didn't want to, although he knew that one day he had to let the tears out he didn't want to do it any time soon, the feeling of those hot tears pouring out of him and spilling onto his face was worse than acid and it made him feel weak, useless, alone…

When a person cries their suppose to have somebody there to wipe away their tears, kiss and hug away their sadness, cure their depression. Yet, every time he felt the over whelming black pit of despair call to him it was the fact that he had nobody there to do what was suppose to be done that made him stop. He couldn't be weak, because if he was weak then what was he going to do? If he was weak, nobody would look after him, he was made for himself, he couldn't think of other people in the sense that they would help him, or ever in the sense that he needed them. He felt that if the world ended tomorrow, he'd be best ready for it, after all when he was in his apartment, developing photos, only one of the camera's used film, his favorite, the older one, the new one was digital but he didn't have enough money for a computer or doing anything else for that matter, he felt the world had ended, he was the only person in his bubble, also known as his apartment, his world, his universe.

Jace put his leg down from the chair, putting his foot down on the carpet stopping the chair mid-swivel and standing up. He took one more good look at the picture and after not finding any fault whatsoever in his own mind flung the photo onto the clustered desk. For being so alone he had a lot of shit on that desk…..Photos, film, blank collage ruled sheets, pens, pencils, a handful of random paper holders in different shapes. He stood up and walked into the kitchen part of his apartment, by kitchen he meant, there was a fridge, 2 counters, and a microwave, oh yeah, there was a stove too. He never used it and cleaned it even less.

He strode into the 'kitchen' and walked to the fridge, bending down and looking into the cold abyss, after looking for a good few minutes and feeling his thin stomach growling under his white Guns N' Roses shirt he decided to make a sandwich. He looked at the stove and decided to make a grilled cheese one. Getting on his knees he found a can of tomato soup in one of the cupboards in the counters and decided to make that too. He cleared the stove off the best he could and pulled out a small pan, the only one he owned. When he couldn't find any butter he decided to do without, he started to cook when the phone rang, he was horrible around stoves and the fact that the phone rang while he was trying to cook something mad things worse, the shock of it all made him burn his hand.

"MOTHER FU – " he was cut off by another ring as he tried reached for the cold water tap on the sink. Finding it he ran his hand under it, causing it to sting and burn but it started to feel better quicker. When he couldn't find a towel, he wiped it on his shirt and walked to pick up the phone.

"Hello?" He asked, annoyed. Nobody really ever called, it used to be ex- girlfriends, one night stands, the people who lived below or above him who wanted him to turn off his cold water because the pipes were leaking, credit card companies…..nobody ever important, and then they all stopped calling. Slowly but surely they all stopped calling, they knew better and there were only a few people that call ever…The soft voice on the other line was the one voice that called every week.

"Hiya, Jace. How you doing? You seem pretty mad." The soft voice of Zelda, a girl who worked at the firm, emitted from the other end of the line. Together they joked about her parents being nerds. Although he was six years her senior Zelda was one of the few people who Jace would tolerate. He even could go so far as to saying he liked her a bit, not much, but more than any other person in his life, and at of the day that wasn't saying much.

"No…not doing……anything …." Jace muttered, his voice far off and distant as he tried to find something to wrap his hand with.

"Okay, well I was just calling you to tell you some things…" She started, her voice questioning, as if every word she said was like stepping on uncertain ice, like she was waiting to say the wrong word and let the ice below her words break and crack and falter and let her fall into the endless abyss of hatred that she knew Jace could dish out. Jace was, in fact, very uninterested in what she had to say as he took the phone and scoured the apartment in search of something to wrap his slowly reddening hand in. Finding nothing he took off his white shirt and wrapped it around his hand, exposing his skinny torso to the empty apartment, Zelda's voice still chatting nervously in his ear. Finally Jace tuned back in.

"…and so what I'm getting at with all this is that you're getting one last chance…it's not a big one or a good one but – "

"I'm sorry…What?! I've been looking for something to…just…I've been preoccupied……tell me again what you're talking about."

Zelda sighed, her voice even soft and calming when she wasn't feeling so at peace. Jace waited, looking at the phone, waiting for the answer. "You are so clueless.' Finally came the reply. "But I'll explain again. I said Mr. Shiman is going to fire you, but I fought with him and asked if you could have one more chance, and he said okay. This is your last chance to do what he wants. Okay?"

"Why bother – I hate that ass and I can't wait to get freedom from the hell hole you call 'work'." Jace muttered something else after that but he didn't even know what he had said so he was grateful when Zelda ignored him and kept going.

"Your assignment is to go to this abandoned town – some place called Silent Hill. You'll get tickets tomorrow to go there, I think it's by train halfway and then you have to drive. A group of people really want to renovate that place and they want pictures of the town – in detail. So if you could do this it might just save your job." Zelda huffed softly, as if she had said all this about 20 times and it still wasn't getting through. Jace looked forward, his eyes blank, his mind void, she knew that was how he was looking right now, well perhaps not shirtless, but staring at the wall in front of him like a dead man, eyes wide open yet unseeing, listening and yet not hearing a word. He nodded slowly. Remembering that she couldn't see him he snapped out of his mind and huffed an agreement. Some kind of sound that seemed like a reluctant yes, Zelda took it and seized the opportunity the distance herself from the situation, the anger and blankness of Jace that scared her.

"Well I'll let you go if ya' want….I know you probably have to start packing up and whatnot, it's not just going to be a one day things, you'll probably be there 2 days or at least a day and a half because of the ride and everything and you probably want to get back to whatever you were doing before I interrupted" She sighed a deep heavy sigh again, as if it hurt her to hang up on him and if he was emotional there he might have actually cared about how she felt, but he wasn't. After the pictures he had gotten back he did what he was used to doing when things happened like that, he cut himself off from every feeling that he could. Tiredness, and hunger was sometimes okay, it depended on his mood. Sometimes either was signs of being weak and therefore he wouldn't allow himself to sleep or eat until the feeling of "If I do this I'll be weak and that's what they want" would pass. Today he had just detached himself of sadness, happiness, love, and any other 'feeling' that wasn't related to a body function like eating or sleeping. He muttered something as she promised to call tomorrow around the same time. Before she could finish her sentence Jace dropped the phone back unto it's stand, cutting her off short. Why let her waste her breath?

His head started to hurt horribly, a throbbing headache was starting right behind his temples and he was suddenly weighed down, both physically and mentally and all he craved was a nap, a nice, long nap on his shitty bed, which at the moment didn't seem nearly as shitty as it had two hours ago went he dragged himself out of it. He and his crudely bandaged hand stumbled their way to the small room that served as a bedroom. Inside was his bed, a queen sized mattress on the floor with one blanket, a cheap grey flannel thing he used in the summer. He has a nicer heavier one in the living room on the couch. Other than that, there was almost nothing in the room, in fact there wasn't even a door to the room just half a wall separating it from the rest of the apartment, a mirror in one corner of the room and handfuls of clothes strewn across the hardwood floor.

He stumbled his way across the room, he felt drunk but had nothing other than a glass of disguising tap water all day long. Finally reaching the mattress he felt himself fall onto it, he felt his body give out from under him and although he was clean for over 2 years it felt like he was on a high, some sort of screwed up high in which he left his body….hell who was he kidding that's what every high felt like but still….And that was the last thing he remembered before he blacked out.


	2. The Calling

**Misfit: Short Sweet and to the point, Hope you like it **

Jace could feel something in the air around him, something strong and fragrant…What was that…His mind wondered slowly, his lips felt cracked and dry. His tongue wiggled out form between closed lips and licked at the chapped skin. His eyelids rose slowly, almost painfully. He moved one hand to his hair, running it through the almost greasy blondish locks. He let his fingers linger in his hair for a little bit longer, before his stomach started to rumble hungrily.

He went to run his other hand over his bare ribs when he felt the post – burnt feeling awaken in his hand. Damn, he had forgotten about that. Suddenly the air seemed thicker, almost foggy….Jace couldn't help it went he started to cough, at first it was a tickle in the back of his throat and it slowly turned into a hacking that seemed to cloud his head. Sitting up and yet bent over the side of his mattress he felt his throat closing up, he felt himself flush; all the color seemed to drain out of him. He tried to sand up and couldn't he felt so dizzy. He smelled the air one more time and realized what was wrong – he had forgotten to turn off the stove!

He forced his legs to move, even though the felt like they would collapse at any time. He pressed forward into the kitchen, looking around the smoky apartment, his eyes instantly going to the raging fire that was in the kitchen, someplace in the distance an alarm sounded, probably down the hall or something – he hadn't replaced the batteries in his since he was 20; still young and stupid and caring if he burnt to death or not.

The orange glow flooded the room, although outside it seemed like midnight the yellow light danced across the walls with the movement of the flames. He felt his head spin and turn, twisting inside his skull. It seemed to get darker and darker, the smoke heavier and thicker, the flames grew more mesmerizing despite the rising heat. He felt his body moving towards the couch, if he was going to die at least he could be relaxed while doing so. The flames seemed to get higher and higher, wrap themselves around him, the flames like fingers tipped with yellow seemed to beckon him – closer.

No, it wasn't the flames that were beckoning him closer, there was something, standing in the middle of the flames, something tall and dark. It looked like a man who was wearing a helmet, in some strange shape. His muscular well toned arms were exposed and yet the flames refused to scorch them. He was holding something but the flames were covering it. He stood in the center of the 'kitchen'. He seemed to be waiting for Jace, like a vulture waits for its victim to die. Jace rose one hand a gestured to it, a simple wave the he would do to somebody standing across the street that he knew while waiting for the bus, if only he waited for busses and had friends.

He repositioned himself on his flimsy couch and sat back and watch his life burn away right before his eyes – his cameras, his photos, the notes from editors telling him he wasn't and predicted he'd never be good enough for a firm like them, the food, the clothes, everything around him was up in flames – and he didn't care. He titled his head back and closed his eyes, he let the smoke float around his head, inviting it into him, waiting for it to take him and burn him up just like the old photographs that hung on the walls. The thing in the middle of the 'kitchen' never moved.

He suddenly realized something; his life was just an old photograph, and imagine showing harder times, leaving behind a carbon print on the Earth and nothing more. His edges were torn and ripped with age and over use, too much handling, too much rejection, there were foot prints on the back from getting dropped in a crowed street and people just walking right over him. He realized this all within a few seconds and with a bitter taste in his mouth, perhaps the taste of blood in the back of his throat, he swallowed it all knowing that at least in his last moments he knew the truth. His life was bull shit – he knew that now. Not like he didn't know it before, but he had never wanted to admit it, not to himself or anybody else for that matter. Now he swallowed the blood, the knowledge, the pride and prepared for the worst.

**Misfit: We've got ourselves a hanger, XD, Well I promise to update soon again so you can find out what happens to poor Jace **


	3. Darkness

**misfit: sorry it took me so long to update, I've bee nreally busy lately but I haven't forgotten about the stories **

The phone rang. Jace sat up straight, his eyes wide and glazed his head pounding. He grasped at his chest with his hands and when he felt the sting come from his left hand and his bare chest with his right he remembered where he was and that the phone was ringing. He stood up, sweat beaded across his thin body. He looked out the window and saw it was either midnight or some time later; it was pitch black except for moon, which made the sweat draped across his ribs sparkle with an ominous shine. He ran his right hand over his body again, wiping off some sweat and walked on weak legs to the kitchen. The stove was off and the phone was still ringing. He walked over to the small table where it sat and wondered who the hell could be calling. Maybe it was the morgue calling him to come down and identify his parent's body. He managed a sick chuckle as a wave of fear overtook him for a second. Although his dream was fading already he had a second where he had an image of a muscular man with some kind of helmet on his head, he shook it off and picked up the phone.

"Hello?" His voice, weak and still doused with sleep asked the person on the other line. Nothing. He waited a few seconds before asking again, "Hello? Is anybody in there?" He asked, waiting for a reply. A clear blank void waited at the other end of the line and just as je was about to hang up a wave of static burst through the line, sending sharps crackles and harsh loud beeps unexpectedly into Jace's unprepared ear. He almost dropped the phone but didn't as he struggled to regain his hold on the receiver as he yelled loudly into it hoping whoever was on the other end was listening.

"What you sick fuck? Is this your idea of a joke? What's wrong with – "

A voice. A small, fragile, weak female voice, whimpering through the static.

"Jacen …… away ……… Silent Hill, you ………stay far aw……evil …… death ……don't……"

This time Jace dropped the phone, it emitted a hissing sound as the static at the other side cut off as quickly as it had come, leaving Jace alone with that voice covered in thick static emissions ringing in his ears, leaving a vocal equivalent of a footprint in his mind. Jace let out a shallow shaky breath. The first thought that came to his mind was the rational one; it was a joke. This was some elaborate plan or joke or something by some screwed up teenagers with nothing better to do, or better yet this was all some misunderstanding that was just some other girl's voice. Hell, he'd admit to anything; he was drunk, he was crazy, he was still asleep, he was tired, to anything but the fact that the call he had just received was real and for him.

He hung up the receiver and looked at the phone for a few more seconds, waiting to see if it would start ringing again and when it didn't after 2 minutes he let out a deep slow breath. He turned and began walking towards the kitchen. He grabbed a glass off the shelf and could have sworn to god he heard something behind him, something like … scrapping?

He turned around, half expecting to see something standing tall, dark, and deadly behind him with some sort of huge weapon and with a helmet on his head, swinging his huge knife at Jace.

He shook his head, it was just a long night he was probably getting sick and right now all he wanted was a glass of water. He turned on the tap and let the cold water run for a few seconds, letting it turn from a murky grey to a slightly clearer grey and when it was as clear as he believed it was going to get he ran the glass under the tap. As he felt some of the cold and dirty water miss the rim of the cup and wash down his hand he thought about what had just run through his mind, why a giant knife? Why not some other random large weapon? He didn't fully know how or why he thought of that knife but he knew exactly what it looked like and the more he thought about it the more he thought he could hear it's sound behind him, screeching against the floor, calling to him.

He turned, his heartbeat racing so loud and hard that he thought he could hear it bouncing back at him from the walls. No, it was just in his ears but still he felt like it was going to burst out his chest at any given second and explode. He managed to make it to one of the bar stool like chairs that sat around the island in the middle of the 'kitchen' and sat down. He could barely pick up the glass of water without spilling it, his hands shaking violently. The apartment was covered in thick darkness and he suddenly wished he had turn on at least one light

Jace was the kind of person who would never admit to anybody that he was sacred, not of anything and not to anybody, even himself. He was raised hard and he learned that there was nothing to be scared of, there are no monsters in the closet, no boogiemen under your bed and when you turn off the lights nothing is going to come up behind you and hurt you. He stopped sleeping with a nightlight when he was three. He would never run to his room, turn on all the lights and then hide under the blankets until he fell into some safe sort of darkness. He was Jacen H. Elvers and fear wasn't something he could handle.

So he sat, as a man can sit on a deserted island, sitting in the kitchen of his shitbag apartment, watching the dark shadows move across the wall, although he was the only person in his apartment and he had all the movement of a statue, and he told himself that they were really nothing until he almost believed it. Jace was used to not sleeping so he was barely tired, letting himself drift every now and again, his arms on the countertop. He watched and waited, and hoped. Sometimes he'd talk to himself, and he would tell himself he wasn't sitting there in the dark watching shadows because he was scared, he could never tell himself that.

Finally after hours of sitting and watching with wide eyes the first pink rays of sun began to show through the curtain less window of his living room- kitchen and he could stand up and walk back to the bedroom, all the events of the night slowly leaving him as if it were all a bad dream and as he laid back down into his bed, pulling the thin sheets up his neck he hoped that wouldn't remember the image that had haunted him all night; that monster with that huge knife waiting just behind him, bringing up his sword to slice through his neck.


	4. Welcome to Silent Hill

"Ziggy rarely sang, screwed up eyes and screwed down hairdo like some cat from Japan" Jace sang happily with one hand on the wheel and the other busily playing with the buttons on his dashboard. He changed the station getting some newer rock, something by 3 Days Grace or something. He didn't care much for it so he switched back to the classic rock station. He had been driving for about two hours now.

He picked up the coffee that rested between his legs and took a sip, setting it back down. He could barely remember anything from the night before, and although he didn't get that much sleep he was wide eyed and ready. He had his camera in the passenger seat next to him, resting in its case with not one or two but five extra batteries and six memory cards. He wasn't going to screw up his last chance.

Although he was hard on himself yesterday, to the extent of pure hatred, he was always happier going to a job. He loved what he did, not who he did it for; but that was okay by him, sometimes. He kept his eyes on the road as the song on the radio ended and changed to something by Guns N' Roses. He couldn't help but sing along.

After a few more minutes of seemingly endless highway he turned off at some exit for some town of South Ashfield, just as the instructions said. As he neared a red light he examined the city, it was like a miniature New York, the sides of the roads were lined with subway entrances and exits, old fashioned buildings, and a variety of smaller shops.

As he went further and further into the city the more it seemed like a large city, normal to a fault. He soon discovered that as he neared the end of this city and drove more towards what he presumed to be Silent Hill that the buildings were further and further apart. The houses were bigger, older, more individual, and for some reason it seemed like somebody had switched the station of the music he was listening to.

Some woman began to sing a song about writing a letter to her future self and Jace couldn't help but shivering at the fact that he felt like he had heard it before and yet he couldn't remember where.

"Never mind." He said, giving his hair a flip and refocusing on the road before him. More trees were growing around the road, it seemed like now there were no houses anyplace nearby and Jace felt transported back to some other time.

He sighed softly, letting his mind wander over a variety of things, thinking if he brought enough film for the camera sitting the backseat, wondering if he attached the flash or forgot it, but always wondering about that nightmare he had. Although he had forgotten the fear, the shadows that danced across the wall, he could remember that man. He always remembered flames, and that man; if it was a man at all, standing in the middle with his giant knife.

Although Jace thought he was okay when it came to making up stories and such he could never make that creature up. He was a photographer and photographers must have a level of creativity but not as much as an artist. He could never make up something so disturbing. There was only one problem however; the more he thought about it, the creature and the nightmare filled with fire and smoke that seemed to be so real he could smell it; the sleepier he got.

At first he believed it was solely in his mind and then he began to yawn, uncontrollably. He felt tired, and as he continued to drive to his destination, although he hadn't been tired when he woke up this morning he felt drained. His arms hurt, his legs hurt, and his eyes were watering as if he had stayed up for three days without sleep. He had woken up at 8, it was only 10. He knew he couldn't make it all day like this, dragged himself from place to place, it just wouldn't work.

Then he saw the sign, huge letters that seemed to jump out at him in the morning light that was strong and powerful and beautiful, "Welcome to Silent Hill!" It was an old fashioned sign and he wanted to take a picture of if but the second he saw it, it seemed impossible to keep his eyes open. It hurt everything in his body to keep his eyes open and he couldn't see straight. He couldn't do this; out of the corner of his eye he saw a pull over spot.

"Just five minutes would be fine." He muttered to himself, pulling over to the spot and putting the car in park but for some reason not shutting it off. He slipped the coffee cup onto the floor, he was "beyond coffee" tired. He pushed the camera up a little so he could lower his head to the seat. The radio continued to play some strange music he never heard of before, some sweet voice floated through the air that seemed to get thicker in his car since he left South Ashfield. He leaned down sideways, letting himself slip into a child like position on the front seats. He let his eyes slip shut.

**Misfit: Heya guys, sorry its short and every chapter up to this point has ended with him falling asleep but believe me that will mean something later in the story (hint hint wink wink), Also, next chapter will end with him not falling asleep (I hope. XD) Hope you all like it **


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